And the beams were decidedly refulgent—­so much so, in fact, that they almost satisfied even the vanity of Voltaire.  Almost, but not quite.  For, though his glory was great, though he was the centre of all men’s admiration, courted by nobles, flattered by princesses—­there is a letter from one of them, a sister of Frederick’s, still extant, wherein the trembling votaress ventures to praise the great man’s works, which, she says, ’vous rendent si celebre et immortel’—­though he had ample leisure for his private activities, though he enjoyed every day the brilliant conversation of the King, though he could often forget for weeks together that he was the paid servant of a jealous despot—­yet, in spite of all, there was a crumpled rose-leaf amid the silken sheets, and he lay awake o’ nights.  He was not the only Frenchman at Frederick’s court.  That monarch had surrounded himself with a small group of persons—­foreigners for the most part—­whose business it was to instruct him when he wished to improve his mind, to flatter him when he was out of temper, and to entertain him when he was bored.  There was hardly one of them that was not thoroughly second-rate.  Algarotti was an elegant dabbler in scientific matters—­he had written a book to explain Newton to the ladies; d’Argens was an amiable and erudite writer of a dull free-thinking turn; Chasot was a retired military man with too many debts, and Darget was a good-natured secretary with too many love affairs; La Mettrie was a doctor who had been exiled from France for atheism and bad manners; and Poellnitz was a decaying baron who, under stress of circumstances, had unfortunately been obliged to change his religion six times.

These were the boon companions among whom Frederick chose to spend his leisure hours.  Whenever he had nothing better to do, he would exchange rhymed epigrams with Algarotti, or discuss the Jewish religion with d’Argens, or write long improper poems about Darget, in the style of La Pucelle.  Or else he would summon La Mettrie, who would forthwith prove the irrefutability of materialism in a series of wild paradoxes, shout with laughter, suddenly shudder and cross himself on upsetting the salt, and eventually pursue his majesty with his buffooneries into a place where even royal persons are wont to be left alone.  At other times Frederick would amuse himself by first cutting down the pension of Poellnitz, who was at the moment a Lutheran, and then writing long and serious letters to him suggesting that if he would only become a Catholic again he might be made a Silesian Abbot.  Strangely enough, Frederick was not popular, and one or other of the inmates of his little menagerie was constantly escaping and running away.  Darget and Chasot both succeeded in getting through the wires; they obtained leave to visit Paris, and stayed there.  Poor d’Argens often tried to follow their example; more than once he set off for France, secretly vowing never to return; but he had no money, Frederick was